Siege Warfare
by My Barbaric YAWP
Summary: Before he loved her, before Kelly was born, before she joined his side, and gave up her powers for a shot at their future, there was an afternoon that started it all. He really should have known then. Smut with a soupcon of deep emotional awakening. A prequel of sorts to On Purpose.


He comes home to get dressed and walks into ambush. They have to get to the wedding, but Juliette's wearing something silky and ridiculous—looking at him with one quirked eyebrow that's achingly familiar. He can't place the look, but it doesn't matter because she's here—reaching for him for the first time in a long time—flirting in the afternoon shade of their bedroom like they have all the time in the world.

He can't move fast enough. It's been so long since she's reached for him—so long since she trusted him enough to meet him halfway—and he feels something inside him surge up to meet her for every kiss—every tug at his belt—every stroke of her hand along the back of his neck.

"Fuck, yes."

He's babbling already, panting in her ear while she palms him through his jeans and rakes her nails lightly down his spine so that he's caught between the two. He's so overloaded with her touch and her heavy gaze that he worries for a moment that this all might be over before it even starts. He's that hard, and she can tell.

"Look at you," she says on a breath—like she's short of air in this space between them, too—like she isn't the one making his head spin. She presses the palm of her hand against him even tighter, not moving, just driving him crazy with the pressure and a little familiar smirk that somehow he's never seen on her lips before. Her hazel eyes are shining now with something else he can't quite make out while she watches him come undone.

"Are you gonna come for me, Nick?"

He almost does, right there in his pants against the heat of her hand like a fucking teenager. She's never been much into talking in the bedroom, but today she's saying all the right things—hitting all of his buttons—and it's the best thing that's happened to him in a very long time.

"Yeah," he tells her on a gasp. "But if I'm going down, I'm taking you with me."

He's already moving, picking her up in a bridal carry and tossing her on the bed with a squeak and a bounce that he can't help but grin at. She's laughing now, looking at him with wide, appreciative eyes while he shucks of his shirt and his jeans and his boxer briefs. Her eyes get darker with every item he loses, and then her hands start to wander, sliding down her stomach, heading due south. Exactly where he wants to be.

"Do you need any help with that?"

She gasps a little as her fingers touch down. Maybe the sound of his voice helps, and isn't that a delightful thought...

"Nick?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you—" Another gasp. "—something about going—"

"Oh yeah," he says, grinning while he moves closer, pushing her up the bed to rest her shoulders on the pillows while he trails slow, open mouthed kisses down her neck—pausing for one rough lick against her nipple, over her heart—and then he's moving down her ribs, past her belly button, over the curve of her hip.

Her hands are in his hair now, and she pulls a little as he moves lower still.

"You don't have to—"

She sounds uncertain for the first time since she walked out in the negligee—hesitant in a way he hasn't heard before—but then his mouth is on her, his tongue swirling over the peak, and she's not hesitant now. Not with the way she arches off the bed—not with the way she gasps his name like a spell.

Spell? He's not sure where that thought came from, but he doesn't have time to figure it out because he's too busy dragging her even closer to the edge with two fingers in the wet heat of her while he laps at her clit and sucks until she breaks underneath him with a cry and sharp tug of his hair that leaves them both breathless.

"Holy shit," she says, staring at the ceiling and trying to catch her breath.

"Yeah?" He can't help but smirk as he presses a kiss against her inner thigh.

"Yeah. You are really good at that."

"Should I be worried that you'd forgotten?"

"Nick, I'll never forget," she tells him, looking at him with a cat-got-the-cream-grin that he loves. "That's a promise. Come here."

She doesn't have to tell him twice. She's warm and close in his arms when he pulls her in for a kiss and there's this new thing she does with her tongue as it dances with his that makes him moan.

"Jesus, yes—do that. Always."

It's like the first time all over again, only better, and Nick can't wrap his head around the way she moves today—like she's on fire for him—like he's finally found a way to make her honest-to-god tremble in his arms while she bites his lower lip and guides him to her.

"Fuck me, Nick," she says with a harsh whisper in his ear, and he can't remember her ever swearing like this for him before. He does fuck her then—slow and steady and deep with one hand in her hair and one hand in a death grip on the headboard, which bangs into the wall on every thrust.

She meets him halfway every time, making these sweet little half-moan, half-gasp sounds, and when their eyes lock together, he could almost swear that hers change color—a trick of the light—from molten hazel to quicksilver-blue.

"I love you."

The words come from somewhere deep inside his chest, wrenched from him almost involuntarily, and then she comes with a scream that takes him right down with her until they both collapse against each other, panting in the breath of space between their lips.

Eventually, he rolls off of her—still breathing hard—and she's looking at him with dark hazel eyes again, like she's never seen him before. Like she can't quite figure him out.

"What?" He asks, and she shrugs.

"We should do this more often," she says, and when he looks back at this moment, years from now, that's what he remembers. Somehow, he thinks she meant it, even then.

But today they've got a wedding to get to, and then everything goes to hell in the car with Juliette. The real Juliette.

"If that was Adalind—" he says, and stops. Because if that was Adalind, then the best sex of his life to date was with a hexenbiest while he thought he was in love with her.

He thinks of the way she grinned at him earlier—wide and happy and satisfied in a way he's never seen Adalind before. Something else she said comes back to him now:

"Nick, I'll never forget. That's a promise."

And he won't either, because try as he might, she's in him now. In his brain and in his blood and in his heart. She's laying siege to all of his defenses, even as she glides back out of his life the way she always does. And he wonders then—just for a moment as he grips the steering wheel and hangs on for dear life—he wonders when she'll be back to take him with her.


End file.
